Friendly Fire
by Joon
Summary: Harry travels to find someone who might have the solution. TVverse. Sequel to The Best of Me, The World's a Stage & Schadenfreude.


A sequel to **The Best of Me**, **The World's a Stage **and **Schadenfreude**. You'll need to read those in order for this one to make any sense.

Only one more installment left before this AU finally finishes!!

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Despite what others assume, Harry, in his heart knew that he was an optimist. 

Judging by his lifestyle and measure of ambition, one could conclude that the wizard lived in a perpetual cynical state, not bothering to improve his life as he felt he couldn't. No one considered that Harry was simply an optimist who was perfectly content with the status of his existence.

It was this optimistic outlook that had prompted the wizard to call in his last favors, empty his wallet of next month's rent and go to Greece. More specifically, a small island called Keros that lay unassumingly near Naxos. To the greater population, it was an uninhabited plot of land that did little other than exist. But a handful of locals and now Harry, knew it was inhabited by a resident of one.

For the wizard, it would be his final resort to find the exit to this nightmare he'd been trapped in for the last year.

With his remaining money, Harry had purchased what he'd need in order to make the potion that he'd drunken steadily like water since leaving his house. By a trial and error process in the last half year, he'd figured it was the best method in evading the demigod who was never far behind him when it came to dangerous situations.

About 24 hours after drinking his first bottle of the shielding concoction, Harry was sitting in a tiny boat with only his offering in his hand and nothing else. As the tiny vessel rocked violently with each wave, the wizard peered over the side. He'd heard once that it was only in Greece that one could see waters so clear that the whole of the ocean's secrets was visible. The boat's movement made it difficult, but if Harry squinted, the shadows he could see moving beneath the blue focused a little and made more sense.

He hoped things coming into clarity would be a theme on this trip.

The wizard was deposited on the shore without any additional instruction, other than to get out. As prearranged, he would have about 30 minutes, the time it took for his ride to circle the island once. Hefting the large jar in his hand, Harry took off.

His destination wasn't too hard to spot as it was the only object on the island that appeared man-made. But even as he approached, Harry could feel the subtle suggestion radiating from the small stone structure to move away and forget that he ever saw it. As he got closer, the suggestion was now becoming a direct order that pressed against his mind almost painfully. Harry only gripped the jar in his hand and marched forward, telling himself that after the past six months, a little headache was nothing.

It was a circular cottage, made of the marble that Keros was famous for back in the day. The white of the stone was almost blinding against the sunlight. There was one rectangular entrance way that did not have a door or a guard present. A series of squares were also punched out of the flawless marble, allowing the breeze to drift through from the sea and giving a beautiful view of the shore. Not that a view mattered to the inhabitant inside.

The hunched figure sitting on a thin cotton mat raised his head when Harry entered the cottage. In the strong light, the wizard could see the man's eyes were completely covered in a white film as flawless as his house's marble. In contrast, his skin was tanned a leathery brown.

"Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden."

Harry felt something inside of him clench at the speaking of his name. It was said correctly with even the intonation being perfect. The wizard felt an overwhelming urge to turn and just run for all it was worth, but he swallowed down the impulse and instead took a step closer toward the seated figure. Carefully, he placed the large jar just to the right of the man.

The seer raised a thin dark arm and placed his fingers over the jar's top. A smile that was devoid of giving away any kind of actual emotion graced the lined face.

"What do you ask from me?"

Harry stood stiffly with his arms at his sides. "I need to know how to restore Hrothbert of Bainbridge. All of him." He didn't ask if it was even possible to do what he proposed, keeping his mind centered on the idea that it could happen. He just needed to know how.

The seer tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something beyond Harry's earshot. The white eyes eerily still seemed focused on the wizard, however. "The spirit you speak of resides in the skull currently in the possession of the Wizard High Council."

"Yeah, I know that," Harry said, his impatience overriding the fear he'd felt earlier. Jetlag and tiredness was compromising his self-preservation gauge again. "How do I make him whole again?" he asked again.

The prophet shifted again. "The soul has been cleaved by the trickster," he stated. "Only the darkness remains within this world."

The wizard bit back another retort that this was all old news to him. "How do I get him back?" he asked as clearly and as articulately as he could without sounding frustrated.

"I have no claim over this soul. And thus I cannot tell you how to retrieve what you have lost."

Harry didn't breathe for a minute. It felt like everything inside of him had just stopped, frozen in some sort of defense to not have to fully process the news he'd just been given. That there was no answer or way to bring Bob back. That if this seer didn't know or couldn't see how it might be done than it was a lost cause. Whatever grief Harry had more or less kept at bay with his singular hope at finding Bob was now threatening to overwhelm the wizard like a tsunami.

"You must seek the Abscido," spoke the seer.

The words came to Harry through his haze. "What?"

The seer's arms were once again neatly folded in his lap as he peacefully looked at the wizard, not seeing him and yet seeing all that lay behind and before him. "The Abscido," he repeated. "The binders. They cursed the soul to his skull by order of the Wizard High Council. By their act, the Abscido have a claim on the fractured soul. They have the answer you seek."

Harry's heart and blood started up again. "How do I find them?"

The seer smiled the vacuum of a smile again. "I have answered your question, wizard," he spoke. "You can ask no more from me."

The dismissal was quick without any personal rancor, which for Harry was a rarity. Committing the name he'd been given to memory, the wizard nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay, thank you." He turned to go.

"Wizard," the prophet called after him. When Harry turned, a bony, skeletal hand was raised, nearly reaching for him. "Be cautious of what you do. Are you certain you wish to restore this soul?"

Harry frowned at the question. "I'm more certain about that than anything."

The brown fingers twitched in the air. "You have lost those closest to you," the seer intoned. "Think carefully on allowing yourself the weakness at having once again something precious to lose."

The wizard stared at the gesturing figure, feeling the warning that hung in the air between them. Harry didn't notice until that point that he had his own hands clenched into tight fists. "It can't be worse than it is now," he bit out. "It's worth it."

The seer did not speak again as Harry walked out the entranceway, back toward the sea. For awhile, only the sound of splashing waves filled the cottage as it had done since the first day he'd been left on Keros. So far from his original home. Then finally the soft crunch of footsteps reached his ears again as a shadow he could not see fell against him.

"What was with that last comment?" asked the trickster, standing next to him. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"You did not say I could not speak beyond the information you wished me to impart onto him," replied the prophet.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," the trickster shrugged. "Dresden would never give up anyway. Good job on that. The blind leading the terminally stupid," he added with a grin. When the seer remained sitting in silence, the demigod walked around and spotted the jar Harry had left behind. "What exactly is it with you and goat innards? I mean, do you eat them?"

"I have no desire for them," the seer sighed. "And yet those who visit seem to insist on them as an offering."

"Ever think of just telling them you'd rather have an iPod or something?" The white eyes looked toward the trickster with a supercilious expression. The demigod raise his hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, I'm just saying. It's your call. I'm just glad he's finally on the right direction."

"You underestimate him. He would have found the answer eventually."

"Look, it took him nearly six months to find you," the trickster retorted. "And that was AFTER I'd left that book behind at his place after he got himself poisoned. He'd have gotten around to the Abscido by the next Ice Age." Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the trickster walked over to one of the open windows. "A shielding potion," he snorted. "He's hopeless. It's like watching a semi-retarded monkey stumble around."

"As you say," said the seer.

The demigod gazed out the window. "Nice view you got here. Not that it does you much good. You can't even see it."

The prophet shrugged. "I know it is there," he said as reason.

"Hm," the trickster mused, thinking on the reply. "You have a point."

A few minutes passed in silence before the seer asked, "Do you really think to outrun your fate, trickster?"

"Why? You see my future?" asked the demigod with a patronizing grin.

"I see your chains," the seer replied with a sobered seriousness. "You may bargain, deal, and coerce every being in this world. But there will always be someone waiting for you, holding them."

"On the contrary, the Abscido are the last in line," said the trickster lightly.

"And you believe you can bargain with them?"

"Definitely," the demigod stated. "Everyone wants something. And I definitely have something they want."

The prophet laughed. "You are a fool. I know your future. No one, not even you, can escape what is there."

"I just bought you to tell Dresden what I wanted him to hear so you'll excuse me if I'm not trembling in fear at the words of an almighty seer who gave it up for a deal," replied the trickster. "Or do you not want your payment?" He grinned when he saw the vaguest of anxieties pass by the leathery face. "I thought so. See? Everyone's got something they want."

From the depths of his jacket, the trickster pulled out a small jar of his own. Inside, the multicolored jelly beans rattled. "I made them easy to swallow for easy access. That's how thoughtful I am." He placed the jar in the prophet's hand.

"And each is different?"

"Of course. Each one a different visionary wonder. I even threw in a couple of movies, which…well, you probably know about in theory since you apparently know everything." He watched the seer unscrew the lid with a trembling hand. "You'll like the movie I picked. It's about a guy born as a man, wanting to be a woman. Thought you might relate."

The thin fingers selected a bean at random and held it up, fingering the soft smooth contours with almost a reverent air. "As agreed," the seer nodded.

"A deal's a deal," the trickster concurred. "Enjoy yourself."

As he moved to leave, the seer called out to him as he'd had before with Harry. "A free thought for you, trickster?"

The demigod shrugged. "Sure, I'm always up for free stuff."

"Your fate is inevitable. You have as good a chance to escape your destiny as the ghost does in escaping his curse."

There was no flippant reply back and for the second time that day, the trickster paused to think on the seer's words, even as he'd insulted the prophet's integrity earlier. After a few moments, the demigod smiled. "Guess Bainbridge and I are in the same boat then," he said. "Contrary to what Dresden might think, I kind of liked the old guy."

"So much so that you saw fit to destroy him?" asked the prophet, despite knowing the answer.

"You're just sore because I have my freedom," said the trickster, back to his usual childishness. "I can go where I please and do what I please and it kills you."

Not stooping down to the level, the seer sighed. "As you say," he repeated.

The trickster gave a wave that he knew the other could not see. "Don't eat them all at once," he advised. "Make it last. That's what I'd do." A solemn expression suddenly came over the thin face that again, the prophet could not see, but could tell was present. "Make it last as long as possible," he stated so quietly the seer strained to hear. And then he was gone.

Left alone, the seer placed the first bean into his mouth, allowing the sugary taste to spread on his tongue before swallowing. Just after the candy passed down his throat, an array of sights, colors and shapes appeared to him. It was in some ways like a vision. Only he knew it was not a prophetic image of the future or knowledge of the past, but simply reality as it was now. The world, as he remembered from so long ago, had changed. And yet as the pictures moved in front of his blind eyes, he could still recognize familiar elements that brought him back to his childhood. The vivid colors of a sky at dusk, the green of tall grass, the smile of a young girl.

Unchecked, tears filled the sightless white eyes as he gazed upon the images.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

THE END


End file.
